---
### **"Word Salad Symphony"**
**[Verse 1]**
I’m a paradox poet, penning puzzles on paper,
A lunatic linguist, leaving logic in vapor.
This rap’s a Rubik’s Cube, twisted, tangled, and tight,
Where the left hooks land but the meaning’s not right.
*“I’m a pineapple king with a throne made of toast,
Got a penguin in my pocket that I brag about most!”*
See, that’s the kind of garbage that we’re calling a hit,
But I’m here to dissect it, every meaningless bit.
Once upon a Tuesday in a town called "Whatever,"
Lived a man with a shovel and a hat made of leather.
He dug up dreams in the dirt near a ditch,
Then sold them for a quarter to a guy named Mitch.
Mitch had a mission to build a machine,
That turned jellybeans into gasoline.
But the plot got lost in a lyrical haze,
‘Cause none of it matters, and that’s the new craze.
---
**[Chorus]**
Fast flows, no facts, just fiction and fluff,
Stack syllables high, but it’s never enough.
Twist the tale, stretch the scale, make it sound tough,
Call it clever chaos – we’re addicted to the bluff.
---
**[Verse 2]**
Now Mitch met a mime who could juggle with fire,
While reciting bad rhymes on a broken barbed wire.
The mime said, *“Yo, Mitch, got a question for you,
Why do rappers rhyme words without a damn clue?”*
Mitch laughed and replied, *“Man, it’s all for the vibe,
Nobody cares if the words even jive.
You can spit about yachts or a yak in a suit,
As long as there’s a bass drop and a hot autotune.”*
Suddenly, a squirrel in a suit jumped in,
With a saxophone solo that could make your head spin.
He said, *“Listen here, Mitch, your machine is a sham,
And your jellybean dreams are a marketing scam!”*
But Mitch didn’t care; he just shrugged and smiled,
‘Cause the nonsense was gold, and the crowd went wild.
---
**[Chorus]**
Fast flows, no facts, just fiction and fluff,
Stack syllables high, but it’s never enough.
Twist the tale, stretch the scale, make it sound tough,
Call it clever chaos – we’re addicted to the bluff.
---
**[Bridge**]
I’m the king of confusion, the sultan of spin,
Stringing words together just to see if they win.
*“I’ve got a crocodile car that runs on regret,
And a taco-shaped telescope I’ll never forget.”*
The listener nods, but their brain’s in a knot,
‘Cause the lyrics are a puzzle, but the meaning is not.
It’s a carnival of nonsense, a circus of sound,
Where the story’s a spiral that spins you around.
Mitch built his machine, and it blew up the town,
But instead of despair, everyone danced around.
The squirrel played jazz, the mime spit bars,
And the sky lit up with gummy bear stars.
What’s the lesson, you ask? There isn’t one here,
Just a mess of metaphors and a beat to revere.
